


To Say Nothing of the Cane

by plumedy



Category: Murder Rooms: The Dark Beginnings of Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon - TV, Crack, Episode Related, Episode: s01e04 The White Knight Stratagem, Gen, there are implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:19:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumedy/pseuds/plumedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Andersen-esque piece of crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Say Nothing of the Cane

"Will they move the figures now, I wonder?.."

It was a sad old piece of wood, and not a talkative one, either, but the rumour was that it had relatives among the northern ship pines. “Imagine,” the deerstalker would sometimes whisper with excitement, “our old chessboard is of royal blood; every evening those pines are crowned by the sun, so respected they are.” But the black cane that stood in the dark corner near the deerstalker’s chair was a very no-nonsense person, and it would have none of it.

“No they won’t,” it snapped now dryly, and fell silent. The chessboard gave a long creaky sigh. Everyone in the house knew that they didn’t like each other.

“How do ye ken that, how do ye ken that?” cried the deerstalker, jumping up and down.

The silver knob of the cane sparkled with irritation; then the sparkle grew into a blind dangerous gleam, white as a fang. The room was dark, and there was a smell of fennel in the air.

“I have my sources, you small funny hat.”

It seemed that this set every joint and sliver in the chessboard creaking worriedly.

“Don’t argue with this _cane_ ,” it whispered to the deerstalker, its voice changing as though the word _cane_ was a vulgar offense, “they say it murdered somebody, and that it was not the only time. God knows what it can do to us poor things.”

But the deerstalker was known to be fearless to the point of foolhardy; and during its life in the hat shop it had heard so many a tale and saw so many a folk that it could be, arguably, called the most experienced of the two (this is to say nothing of the cane, which flatly refused to reveal any details of its past – hence the odd rumours).

“Na,” the deerstalker answered. “It couldnae do this athoot the man; and I’ll tell ye, he’s nae murderer.”

Then it thought a little and seemed to come to some conclusion.

“But I’ll stop arguing with it awricht, if ye, chessboard, tell me about yer figures: we have yet time ‘til the candles are lit.”

The candles were beautiful but slightly daft creatures. They knew detective stories by heart and smelt most annoyingly with heather.

The chessboard sighed again. “Yes, I wouldn’t want the candles to blab it out to the entire household.” Secretly it was proud of having such a zest; not every chessboard could boast of being permanently close to a checkmate and yet never achieving it. There was something poetic in it, something that that murky cane could never understand.

"I always wondered as to why they were moving and moving my figures," it said. "They never stopped. They did it every day. What sense was there in those movements? That I could not fathom; but now I understand, I think. They were looking for the most beautiful combination, of course. Ha! it is obvious now; they wanted me to look my best, and now they finally found it, and here I am. The perfect chessboard. No worse than my kinsmen the pines."

And respectful silence reigned in the room.

 


End file.
